Migrating a kindly old gentleman's files from one computer to another... We'd got through his documents, his architectural drawings, his collection of writings of the Dalai Lama, a little music. Then we get to photos:

"Do you wish to import 5600 photos?"I look up and he nods.I click "yes""Do you wish to import the following duplicate?"

I am now presented with not one, but two stereo images of a young man with a cock that was longer and thicker than his forearm.

skinny-dipping
....a few years ago my now-ex and i went on a wee camping holiday. we were enjoying our roof-down tor of the highlands, and came across a lovely spot in glen etive (next-door to glencoe) ans decided a wee skinny dip was in order (it was one of those oh-so-rare but cherished REALLY hot days Scotland gets every so often).

we had a classically romantic picnic with us. there was a perfect 'table' of a rock in the middle of the pool we'd ended up in. strawberries, horny behaviour, erm, me being hungry, you geddit i'm sure.......

5 canoeists were treated to something they didn't expect that day......

Tenuous story from my schooldays
Back when I was a yungun my formative years were spent being educated in a small comprehensive school in the deepest darkest valleys of south Wales (I'll call it Unpronounceable School for both the sake of anonymity and the fact it will be unpronounceable for most of you)

What started as quite a well respected school when I was in form one had descended to an underachieving cesspit of proto-chavs and thugs by the time sixth form was reached, due mainly to the school taking on all the rejects that the other schools in the area had expelled in a desperate attempt to keep numbers up.

This attempt to keep numbers up meant that the school open day was treated rather seriously by the staff, so in the days running up, many a teacher could be found running round like mongs on speed trying to make things at least look respectable.

This of course went completely over the heads of us senior pupils who spent all our time studying for our impending A levels. Otherwise known as pissing about in the common room, smoking special cigarettes on the playing fields and drawing crude pictures in MS Paint on the 6th form computer.

Apparently Head of Sixth Form, while showing a group of prospective parents and their loinfruit around the school was quite surprised to find that the desktop of the 6th form computer was no longer a crudely rendered version of the school crest.

Instead was a crudely rendered MS Paint image of a female student being made vigorously airtight by a group male students.

Any doubt as to what this was an artistic impression of were put to rest by the legend at the top of the screen...

I've just started watching the American version of "The Office"
Up until now I've avoided this particular remake, figuring it can't be anywhere near as good as the original. However, I was pretty bored this weekend I decided to seek out some episodes online.

Being a methodical so-and-so I got an episode list and started working through them, typing "office" + the episode title into Google video search.

I am sufficiently naive to not realise what I was doing when I searched for season one episode six, episode title "Hot Girl"...
(GarbageFandidn't know what to have as a board sig on, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 20:44,
2 replies)

Long time lurker, First time poster (Be gentle...)
This only happened yesterday, so while it's fresh in my head.

As none of you will know, I'm in the Royal Navy. This means I'm used to naked guys and whatnot, whether it was the communal showers, or just good ol' naked pranks.

Anyway, I was just relaxing on my laptop in my cabin, when I get a knock on my door. I open it and my mate Jack is standing there completely naked. At this point I say "Hey JaOhForFucksSake..." and we discuss our plans for the evening as normal. I shut the door and start getting ready.

I get in the en-suite shower, get my soapy soap on and towel off. I wrap the towel around my midriff and start ironing some kit, when I hear a knock on the door.

Thinking it's Jack, and I have a chance to get back at the cockbadger, I take off my towel and open the door expecting to see Jack...

Only to come face to face with Laura (The new girl in the office, who's actually with Jack)

Fucksocks.

She looked at my manhood, then at me and said: 'I've forgotten what I knocked for.' Then left!

Fair credit to her, she laughed about it the next day and kept it relatively hush-hush.

forks in my eyes!!!!
a friend at the office hands me a stack of photos - "check these out - my vacation pics from last month"

great ... there he is at some random locales ... big deal ...

wonderful ... he's swimming at some ordinary pool ...

OMFG he's lounging in the pool on an inflatable raft, and he's F'ING NAKED

i did not need to know that his groinal thatch was redder than that on his dome

i'm sticking forks in my eyes so that i will never again see anything like that
(spiderplex, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 19:38,
Reply)

More homoerotic capers
You know those kids toy water slide things? Basically a long, thin bit of shiny heavy duty plastic that you lay on a slope, turn a hose on and kids slide down?

Cover them with washing up liquid, get naked and slide away. Literally minutes of fun until you start to get angry because your friend has had more goes than you, so you give him a shove. And he shoves you back. So you leap on him.

Then see the look of horror on your friends Mum’s face when she looks out of the kitchen window and see’s two naked 10 year old boys covered in bubbles and wrestling on the grass.
(scarpeWe Stole Bikes, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 17:32,
1 reply)

Toblerone art
Being bored youths in a sixth form college in rural Surrey is a difficult stage in life. Pre drinking but post puberty, means that testosterone and boredom lead to peculiar and amusingly immature behaviour such as indoor baseball with a snooker ball and cue and hours of causing each other deliberate pain....you get the idea.

On one particularly boring afternoon, a friend of mine, Alex, decided instead of the usual fighting and breaking things, he would turn his boredom and hormonal behaviour into a fine piece of art.

He chose the underside of a common room coffee table as his canvas.

His art?.... A fine and detailed picture of a grimacing and naked man with a full length toblerone eminating from his rear end.

7 Years later, it is still there; slightly faded but in its full glory. I recently heard that the picture has gone down in folklore at the school. Year 11 students are made aware that there is an amusing drawing somewhere in the common room and that their task is to find it.

Many students no doubt have signed up to GCS sixth form just to witness this piece of art and are still surprised when they see the nature and detail of the drawing.
(Eggstrovertisnt patronising you...honest..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 17:25,
2 replies)

Just a quick one- with a royal flavour
a story from a friend who worked on the queens flight (her maj's personal airline).

Apparently all of the toilets on the planes of the queens flight were suddenly fitted with a curtain in front of the door, after an incident during turbulence when all of the flight crew were treated to a view of the queen on her throne asthe door burst open.
(Symball, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 17:13,
1 reply)

Computers
For my last computer configuration I needed some very stable OS, so I decided to install UNIX. I had never used it before, but given all the word of mouth I had heard - what could go wrong?Many things, as became clear shortly afterwards. First of all, it happened to be in the same period as I decided to try quitting (once again) my booze habit.As the law goes (forgot which one...), if some things CAN go wrong, they WILL go wrong, and of course all at the same time. So that's exactly what happened:As I was checking the new config, I found a physical error on the HDD. Damn! All the stuff that I needed had already been installed... Fighting the damn Delirium Tremens, having seizures every couple of hours... so much time for nothing. I really couldn't take my time once more for the same thing - I had spent nearly 3 hours installing everything, so I decided to try packing all the stuff on an external HDD and as I directed the system to do it, I had a new seizure.As anybody who has ever had Delirium Tremens will understand, things can go bad real fast. And they did. I only had time to hit "enter" to start the procedure, as I lost my consciousness.When I woke up, I called the ambulance, as I was all shaky and even some blood was coming out of my mouth.One thing did go right - as I looked at the screen, I saw that all data had been transferred.So the summary for me was, as I waited for the ambulance - UNIX packed it, new DT.

Glastonbury
We decided to sell fags backy & rolling papers at Glasto one year. We bought a shed load from France and sold them cheaper than the festival stalls (ie Expensive not fucking expensive) we only did it in the mornings took all the stock back to the car so we didn't get robbed.

We just put a blanket down by our little camp and sold in the mornings befoe we all got to twisted to think ;) It was my turn to sell. I was sat down in the sunshine, I'd just sold some and was putting the money in the bumbag looking down to make sure it was all stowed away properly, then i looked up

There at face level were a surprisinly tanned, grey pubed, meat and two veg belonging to a 50 something naked hippy. For a second I was so shocked I just sat there looking at his tackle before I looked up.

He sort of chuckled at me sat down and he bought some backy and skins. I asked him where the money came from and the change went he told me he had an accomidating forskin. We ended up having quite a long chat and a doob (once again I think the forskin provided, this time a bud).

Caught on the throne
I wasn't there for this one, so please excuse the secondary source. Nevertheless, a group of my friends (not the imaginary ones this time...) had boarded a train to go somewhere than was not where they were originally.

In typical British public transport style, there were not many seats available in standard class, despite all the cunts in first-class each having space for a pair of seats to themselves, possibly with a table as well, and/or a complementary cup of tea and a blowjob from the woman with the buffet trolley. My friends were forced to sit, stand or lean in the end of one of the carriages with a toilet in it.

This was one of those cars where they'd attempted to make the whole experience a bit futuristic. You know, rather than just locking yourself into a small, square cubicle and trying to ignore the horror of unclenching your bowels in a dirty, wobbling train carriage, they'd provided one of those large, rounded spaces. The ones with the sliding door and electronic locking system. Why not be distracted from the foul and putrid state of this toilet by pretending you're taking a crap in the fucking Starship Enterprise?

So, after a little while, one of these gentlemen decided that he can definitely hear nature calling unto him, and, seeing as he'll be on this train for another hour or so, he may as well relieve himself in this conveniently placed SciFiCrapperTM.

He entered the portal.

He pressed the button to close the door, and the door slid shut with a hissing noise akin to that of a Starfleet Turbolift.

He either failed to push the "lock" button, or the lock wasn't working, for no sooner had he lowered his trousers and sat gingerly upon this foul throne, than a passing Scotsman wandered past, jabbed the "Door Open" button and laughed.

And there he sat, as the door slid open to reveal him, sat upon the crapper, to all his friends.

All he could muster was an embarrassed "Bugger" as he realised there was nothing he could do about it.
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:41,
4 replies)

My mate Edward and the 'Alien'…

Where do I start with Eddie? shall we put it kindly and say he was a little ‘Eccentric’ and not describe him as my first instinct suggested and call him ‘batshit mental’?

Apart from his love of being in the buff in public, Ted's only other vices were a unswerving belief in Aliens, which we tolerated, and a harmless hankering for ‘Kinder Surprise’, which I couldn’t abide. His addictive capacity for quaffing these shite, overpriced eggy treats with the crap toys inside knew no bounds, and he constantly had a big store of them that he carried round with him inside one of those big industrial Tea container thingies.

Like I said…batshit insane.

One day, Ed came running into the pub and said he had found a ‘friend from another world’ and he was going to keep him as a pet. Being sensitive to his obvious mental disorder I tried to both show understanding, yet let him down gently…:

“Stop being such a fucking thicky mong and get the beers in, you mentalist twatty jizz splat” I bellowed derisively.

“You’ll all be sorry” said Ted before continuing: “Me and my Alien friend are going to go and get nekked in the parks where all the schoolgirls hang out!”

“For the sake of wobbly fuck, don’t be such a pile of cunt bristle” I retorted “You’ll get yourself fucking arrested”

But my impassioned pleas fell on deaf (and stupid) ears…The next day I was more than surprised however when I picked up a copy of the local newspaper and read this story:

‘A local nutjub was arrested yesterday after flashing in the town park with a naked alien creature. After hearing distressing reports from nearby school girls, police investigated and disturbed not only a barking mad fruitloop with his knob hanging out, but a genuine bollock naked life form from another planet. When startled, the offender, in his thirties, then dropped his industrial tea receptical containing Kinder Surprises and ran, managing to avoid the chasing police. However, they were both later apprehended and forensic evidence pinned the man to the scene by way of finger prints left on the item he abandoned’.

Sea boobs?
"Why don't we all go for a swim in the sea?" Enquired one bright spark, only minutes after we'd finished shovelling food down our throats.

"Yay!" I exclaimed, "I'm just going to finish my pint and have a fag and I'll be there." Clever lad, me.

"Um..." Pipes up a brighter spark "...are you sure it's the best idea. I mean, we've just eaten, and you've all drunk quite a lot, and the sea does look rather rough."

"Fuck off." We chime in unison and there's a sudden charge seawards, leaving only me and the brighter spark behind.

Not wanting to be left out, the sensible one decides that a paddle wouldn't hurt, and trots down to the sea, gingerly stripping her t-shirt off as she reaches the water's edge like the shy, body-conscious teenager she clearly never left behind.

At first she only paddles in the shallows, but the calls from the group to venture further finally wear her down and she wades out, jumping the admittedly sizeable waves that are doing their utmost to push her back towards the beach.

From my vantage point I have a clear view of her deciding she doesn't fancy being in such deep water after all, and making her way back to the shallows. I also have a very clear view of the large wave that rises up behind her like a gang of vampires creeping up behind an unsuspecting victim, hands stretched out before them and ready to pounce.

And pounce is precisely what they do. The wave flattens her before I have a chance to shout "Um, there's a really big wave behind you that's going to flatten you if you're not careful and do something about it really quickly. Seriously, it's massive, its lurking like a gang of vampires creeping up behind an unsuspecting victim...".

Her feet suddenly appear where her head had been, then her head resumes its previous position, then both head and feet seem to occupy the exact same space for a few seconds before she rises up from the salty foam and stumbles about a bit, coughing and spluttering.

From my vantage point I have a perfect view of her unexpected tits that have made a bid for freedom from her swimming costume and are bouncing about rather un-erotically in time with her choking as she coughs half an ocean out of her lungs.
(Moey, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:16,
Reply)

If
You're six years old, you're at the swimming pool and you can't find your dad, for the love of God don't try to find him by bending down and squinting under all the changing room doors.

Not many people know this
But I do a nice little sideline in writing greetings card messages for the European market. I specialise in cock-related gags, which seem to go down a storm over there with our smellier, greasier cousins.

Just yesterday my German agent rang me up and gave me a bollocking for going out and sitting in a beer garden all day instead of sitting on my arse at home, coming up with some new piece of crap to put in a card.

Oh god this has just reminded me of the poor bellhop in Las Vegas.
Due to various reasons, Mrs V and I found ourselves in a huge hotel room in Las Vegas enjoying VIP service, all underwritten by a multi-millionairre. We'd been told not to pay for anything, so, er ... we didn't.

We were having a jacuzzi in our en suite, drinking champagne, and smoking. I ran out of tabs so, using the phone next to the tub, ordered some to be delivered.

15 minutes later the bell hop dutifully arrived. I pulled on the complimentary dressing gown, and opened the door to him.

"Your cigarettes, Sir" he said politely. I took them, and the chit to sign off for the bill. I handed him back the bill, and the poor lad stared at the ceiling politely and said "Erm ... ah ... you have a nice day now, Sir!", and walked quickly away. Which is when I noticed I'd neglected to properly tie my dressing gown, and became very aware of how Mrs V's prettiness often affects me.
(Je suis un vagabondis an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:37,
2 replies)

La-la-la-la-la
One of my friends, Brian, met his first girlfriend at university, married her the year after graduating and for some reason moved up to Northumberland for a lifetime of domestic bliss. This turned out a lot less nudey fun poke time that he was hoping for, and a lot more being told what to do and what not to do by somebody who’d morphed into some kind of proto-Hyacinth Bucket.

Fortunately for him, he found comfort in the fact that he shared the historic county town with a number of similarly under-the-thumb husbands, and an informal support group sprung up where the oppressed could indulge in shared interests. In order to camouflage their sneaky golfing afternoons, pub quiz evenings etc., the cover story of a male voice choir was concocted, however this “front” turned out to be a lot of fun in itself, and one enthusiastic member even decided the group should try coming up with its own material. They must have succeeded, as I had the briefest of text messages from Brian the other week – “Alnwick’s pecked did new ditty!”
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.comwants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:34,
4 replies)

Morning flash
The other day I was racking my brains for my own tale of unexpected nudity but alas, my search was fruitless. Little did I know I was just 24 hours from delivering the ultimate morning flash to the upstairs neighbour.

It all happened so (vaguely) innocently. Lying in bed basking in my studenty long-lie in I heard the front door slam. Wondering who could be leaving the house this late besides me, the unemployed student loafer amongst three long-suffering professionals, I leapt out of bed, sans clothes, and rushed to the window.

Throwing caution to the wind as my womanly desire to spy on my housemates took over, I turned to the side window and flung open the curtain with both hands, freeing my breasts in the process to cheerily greet my upstairs neighbour, standing outside his door which looks directly into my room. Thinking fast, I dropped to the floor and assumed the fetal position. I really don't know why I did this, but it seemed to give him quite a laugh.Cowering with my knees tucked up beneath my chin I heard the neighbour open his door and guffaw this classy epithet into the hallway, "I've just seen that bird downstairs with her tits out!"

SURPRISE TODGER!
I'm a graphic designer. A few years back I was working in a printers and one of my customers came in to pick up some work he had printed.

He sidled over and, in low tones, asked if I could scan a picture for him. No problem said I.

He showed me the picture. It was clipped from a local newspaper a few years before, but he'd never got round to scanning it in and emailing it to all his mates.

It showed a local football team, who had won a trophy, posing for a team photo. The front row were kneeling down, the back standing. The guy in the middle had a big grin on his face and his mate next to him...

...had flopped his cock out of his football shorts, and there it was dangling for all to see.

Except obviously, the photographer and the newspaper editor who remained blissfully unaware and allowed the photo to go in the paper, and for it to be distributed to most of Berkshire.

I wish I'd kept that scan as I'd post it. But I didn't, so you'll have to take my word for it.

EDIT:Tried my customer's old number last night but it doesn't work any more, so I can't get hold of the pic.
(StrangechapI look normal on the outside..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:22,
7 replies)

Wax on, wax cock.
I said I would be back with more tales of nakedness…

Whilst prancing around on a group holiday in Cornwall I saw far too much of some of my friends rudie parts, lady gardens included! The one we all got an eyeful of occurred on the second night of our stay.

We were all laying around in the living room getting progressively inebriated on weird alcopop cocktails, (I think they were called Shrek’s or something equally strange which explained the dodgy luminous green colour of the liquid) when one of my friends, Alan, decided to pipe up and contribute that girls were losers when it came to pain. Now my friend Rebecca didn’t appreciate this comment so casually leaned over Alan and plucked a single hair out of his leg. He did the ‘big man’ thing and calmly reported ‘that didn’t hurt’. For whatever reason Rebecca didn’t believe him and leaned over a second time, grabbed a small clump of Al’s leg hair and yanked it out. Again, Al exclaimed ‘didn’t hurt’ although his watering eyes said otherwise.

Now I don’t really recall how we got to the next part of the story as I turned away to have an argument with another friend about who would win in a fight between Superman vs Spider-Man but when we had finished out discussion I noticed that Rebecca had left the room. I asked Al what he had said to piss her off and he explained where she had gone. Rebecca, as it transpired, had wandered off to get waxing strips. She had somehow convinced Alan to let her wax his legs in some sort of display of ruggedness. I couldn’t help think he wouldn’t have put himself forward if he was sober.

So anyway, Rebecca reappears, evil smile and wax strips a go-go. Al had taken off his jeans to allow easy access to his hairy legs and Rebecca was crouched down to apply the strips. At this point I noticed the sizable hole in Al’s briefs. ‘Erm Al, could you possibly change your pants before we do this or put some shorts on, just in case Little Al pops out that hole to say hello?’ Alan looked down and shrugged, ‘the holes far too high, you can’t see anything’…hmmm. Rebecca, clearly bored of all the talking, got a bit restless and grabbed hold of Al’s leg and ripped the strip up into the air… ‘Yeeeeoooooowwwwwwwwwwwfuuuuuuckkkkkkkkiiiiiinnnnneeeeeelllllllll’ he seemed to say. Al proceeded to launch himself a few metres in the air whilst simultaneously leaning down to grab his leg. In mid-flight he chinned himself with his kneecap and hit the ground with a thud.

Well you know what’s coming… the discarded strip had got stuck further up Al’s leg and managed to hook itself onto part of Al’s pants… this lowered the pants just enough to allow Little Al to poke fully through the hole, which in turn made everyone in the room scream and point and Big Al jump in the air and run out of the room squealing like a little girl.
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent"You is talking loco and I like it!", Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:17,
2 replies)

Short and, apparently, not so sweet...
A colleague just informed me of half a conversation he just overheard not 2 minutes before. The young lady he inadvertently eavesdropped on was, apparently, discussing a matter of some delicacy on the telephone, although her tone didn't necessarily testify to this:

The nudity may not have been unexpected, but I'm sure the response was, at least for the poor fella involved.
(Moey, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 14:19,
8 replies)

Oh yeah also
I was on the underground years ago and there was a very old, very well dressed, and very drunk gentleman standing by the door.

He was dressed impeccably from head to toe, other than the fact that his penis was hanging out of the front of his trousers. A woman opposite said "Excuse me! I don't think anyone wants to see that".

The chap said "Madam! Forgive me" and did up the two front buttons on his jacket.
(browserstill relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 14:02,
4 replies)

Nekkid woman
My ex-stepmother is far too worthy, self-righteous and power-happy to do anything other than make an utter fool of herself in absolutely everything she does. She is also so egotistical she is prone to create rather disturbing, bordering on the abusive, but ultimately in hindsight terrifically funny scenes like that detailed below, as a result:

When I was about 14, I'd got to the stage that I was decorating my room and generally turning into a bit of a punk/goth, so there were a lot of drapes and "arty" pictures in my room.

My wardrobe door was a bit tatty, so one day when I passed a shop selling long, thin posters, I decided to get one to cover it.

The one I chose was of a topless woman standing by a deep red velvet curtain, holding a black rose, by a white marble plinth thing (I make no apology - I was 14 - full of poetry and wobbly-voiced sincerity).

I put it up and that was that.

That evening my stepmother knocked on my door, opened it a crack, and told me "Vagabond - I don't like your poster. It's demeaning to women so I want you to take it down and throw it away."

She'd obviously planned this, as I played straight into her hands.

"It's only a naked woman - it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Oh YEAH?!" she replied "Well if you want to see what a naked woman looks like, HERE IT IS!" and she burst in, in her birthday suit.

She danced around the room several times, tore down my poster, tore it into little pieces, threw the little pieces all over the room, and ran out.
(Je suis un vagabondis an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 13:57,
8 replies)

Welcome to Miami Beach
Summer of 1990Nan and Granddad came to visit, excited to see the video of our recent family trip to Florida and Disney that they had helped fund for our Christmas present. They settled nicely on the settee, Dad popped the video on and we all settled down to watch the video back for the first time in it’s full unedited (and lengthy) glory.

‘Ooh, that’s Mickey Mouse’ squealed Nan.

‘I don’t know why you filmed that’ harrumphed Granddad.

‘See, you didn’t believe I was late back to the bus because I’d seen an Alligator, did you?’ boasted Dad.

‘You are such a sulky teenager’ bitched Mum, at one video of 15 year old me sat on a curb with a face like thunder.

‘I loved that beach’ piped up my younger brother when a video of him, Mum and Dad playing in the sea came on.

‘Oh shit, this is going to be awkward’ I thought with a sinking heart as I remembered what I’d done.

And the camera pans off to the right as two gorgeous, topless, G-string wearing beach babes walk sexily towards it like something off Baywatch.

They get closer and the camera moves slowly with them, back to facing the sea where my family are still playing in the background as they are obscured by the profile shot of these magnificent breasts passing in front of me and then follows their thong clad arses off into the distance over a painful period of about 2 minutes.

And we sit their in pained silence.

And I want the world to stop turning.

And then my brother pipes up ‘Did you see those bazoomas?’

Yes. Joe. Sadly, Yes.

I think we all did.

Length? Well, as I said, about 2 minutes. Would have been longer if I knew how the zoom worked and I could have kept them in focus though.
(scarpeWe Stole Bikes, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 13:43,
3 replies)

Ladybum
I may have mentioned before how I was a devout religious type, and therefore never really had much to do with girls. At university I averted my gaze if I saw a woman wearing anything remotely revealing. I didn't give it much thought, really, it was part of being religious. I avoided girls, they avoided me and everybody was happy.

Being at university in a river town, and being a small type of chap, meant that it was almost inevitable that I would get sucked into the world of rowing, particularly coxing (the cox is the little fellow sitting at the stern of the boat, steering and shouting instructions to the crew. By the way, this isn't going to be a pun about cox, don't worry.) It's pretty normal for women's crews to have a male cox, and as fate would have it I was made cox of a women's boat. No problems there- I would fulfil my duties as cox and then run away, never having to compromise my religion. All was peachy.

Our boat club went to Dublin for a regatta, and all of us (mens and womens teams) were booked into three rooms at a youth hostel. I was laying my towel and toothbrush on a bed in one of the men's dorms, chatting with my chums in one of the crews when the ladies trooped in.

"There's a spare bed in our dorm, and we don't want a stranger taking it. Who wants to sleep with us?"

All the men in my dorm looked beseechingly at Sally, the women's captain, and she, damn her, said "Right IGIM, we know you best and we know you aren't going to cop a feel while we're asleep. You're coming with us."

Gulp. She wouldn't take no for an answer. Not only was I running the gauntlet of accidentally seeing an ankle (or, god forbid, something even saucier), thus condemning myself to eternity in hell, I was also an object of utter hatred to all the men in the club. Splendid.

Sadly I took a bunk close to the door, so that I could escape quickly if needed. The ladies didn't share my prudery, and were happy picking through my clothes and commenting on my tiny waist size. I closed my eyes tightly at the first hint of imminent clothes removal.

I woke up one morning after a lovely dream about mosques and beards, stretched, yawned and open my eyes in one fluid motion.

I used to go out with a girl who didn’t really like me. Now, of course there’s an element of understanding here – I wouldn’t want to go out with me either – but she seemed to persistently treat me with the kind of hearty disdain you’d normally reserve for peado Nazi kitten-rapists. Suffice to say, we were at the point in our short ‘relationship’ that meant we were just ambling through the motions on the verge of the inevitable break up…a break up that she seemed to be welcoming amongst her ‘special friends’ with open legs arms.

As part of this ‘going through the motions’ process, she had still come to watch my band perform our particular brand of atrocious craptitude in front of a paying, yet ‘blissfully unsuspecting of our impending shiteness’ public. This time we were at a small working men’s club, in a quaint little middle-of-fucking-nowhere village called Birdingbury.

Surprisingly, despite the fact that we were pathetically piss poor purveyors of puerile pop-pap, we began to experience a modicum of success amongst this blatantly entertainment-starved bunch of inbred mutants. Right from the off, people were dancing, cheering and drunkenly enjoying the proceedings.

What quickly became of interest to us however as the night went on, was the fact that amongst our obviously deluded audience was a bevy of quite stunningly succulent young ladies who were making no secret of the fact that they had graduated with honours from horniness school, and seemed fizzing at the flange for some band-related, ‘dirty lurve’ action.

One fine filly in particular had started the night sat on the right hand side of the dancefloor; and when I glanced over to her, she faced me and crossed her legs…making it perfectly clear to the band and I that under her obscenely short skirt she had neglected to slide her scuddies on before venturing out that evening. As a gentleman, I decided to take it upon myself to aquire full advantage of this situation. Upon establishing eye-contact, I nodded in appreciation.

She then stood up and joined her friends on the dancefloor, and put on a display for us all that made your average ‘dirty dancing’ seem more like ‘tame-arsed twatting about’.

I could not cget over how 'forward' this girl was…in the middle of the next song, she brazenly approached the stage, smiled, then started fondling my frisky phallic fruitbowl under my guitar in clear (and jealous) view of everybody!

I was astounded….Aroused, and very, very smug, but astounded nonetheless.

My girlfriend, however, did not seem to care one jot about this public display of affection by this girl – her attentions were somewhat distracted by trying to insert her entire body into the mouth of the club landlord of all people…who resembled Grizzly Adams’ Hairier uncle. Despite my anger at her, I still had to call time on my nwe 'number one fan’s activities…after all I was a professional…*ahem*.

I slowly moved back, she took the hint and went back to her seat.

After our first set, the band and I left the stage and slumped awkwardly towards the bar. At which point the girl, (I should apologise here and state that I never got to find out her name) made a beeline for me. There was no stopping her now…

“You’re lovely…would you like to come outside with me for a minute?” She asked seductively.

If the Guiness book of records had been there, they surely would have witnessed the fastest ever ‘yes’ answer in history.

She took my hand and led me outside. We had only just rounded the corner of the building when she pushed me against the wall and started kissing me in that over-emphasised, forceful, yet ‘faux-romatic’ way that late teens / early twenties folk do. Now, this was all very well and good, but with my meagre sexual experience at the time I was completely taken aback when with one swift motion, she planted her hand straight down the front of my grundies and started tugging away with such ferocity that I heard a ringing in my ears.

From the previous events of the evening I was already at half-stonk, so from the merest touch of her eager groping digits on my cock it had suddenly lurched into life, and within the blink of a hog’s eye I had gone harder than Chinese advanced algebra.

Thinking it rude to not reciprocate, I leaned forward gently then thrust my hand up her skirt to discover that the ‘hairy wink’ she had given me when she was sat down earlier was not an optical illusion, and her clopper was indeed a purely panty-free zone. However, as I delved further and established contact I encountered a slight twinge of disappointment, as I quickly discovered that she possessed a unkempt mott like a lorry driver’s breakfast. Sportingly, I still rummaged around, desperately probing amongst the various bits of dangling meat and dripping for any ‘sticky-out’ parts to flick at frantically like a boxer’s speedball.

She moaned appreciatively at this, and although I had established that this girl was not the ‘shy and retiring’ type, even I was surprised as she then proceeded to slowly drop to her knees, unzip my trollies, heave out my tadger and schlurp my monument of man-meat into her mouth like a hungry carthorse in a hotdog eating competition

Overwhelmed, yet incredibly turned on by the girl’s sheer audacity and deep-throat ability, I enthusiastically gyrated in time with the rhythmic back-and-forth motion of her head, letting my clockweights knock gently against her chin like a Newton’s cradle

Of course, I knew I couldn’t keep this momentum very long, and the spaff was bubbling within me like a gonad-gunk geyser . Eventually and inevitably…with a ‘shudder’ and an uncontrollable groan, I gurned my grimacing face skywards and exploded a gargantuan 'gland grenade' into her grateful and gaping gob. Watching her ‘gulp’ as she swallowed deeply was a glorious sight to behold…yet fate had decided I wasn’t going to be able to ‘savour the moment’…

No sooner had I began to experience the post-spurtage-whilst-standing-up ‘wobbly leg syndrome’, when I was clanged violently back into reality by the scornful screech of my girlfriend…who in a rare act of courtesy had gone looking for me, and who had turned the corner of the club just in time to watch me deliver both barrells of ballistic bollock brylcream into my admirers mouth, face and hair.

“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” She yelped – her face now etched with shock and contorted with rage.

Maybe I should have been braver…after all, she had fired into someone else that very night in front of me, but at that moment I didn't consider the multiple injustices she had made me suffer whilst we were together – all I felt was the sinking remorse of being rumbled…eyebrows deep in the overwhelming swamp of guilt that can only be achieved by being caught with your cock in another girl’s oesophagus.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry” I said, and I jerked back my hips to retract my dribbling dongler from the girl’s cake-hole. The girl remained on her knees – totally silent and still…moving only to wipe a few droplets of splooge that I had inadvertently shot into one of her eyes.

“I don’t believe this – you BASTARD!” My girlfriend shrieked. This prompted me into thinking that perhaps now was the right time for us to have the ‘we’ve got to talk’ moment…

But yet, I was flustered, with several emothions and panic running through my body. Quickly deducing that the first and most important thing to do was to put my knob away, I would give it a quick tuck then firmly whip my zip up with a swift tug...

My cock, however, had other ideas. It was still in a state of (now unnecessary) hardness and had obviously decided on it’s own that it was enjoying the open air and wanted to stay out to sniff it a bit longer…as a result of this it was not yet 100% back in my pants at point of closure…

*zip*…

…

“Yeeeeeooooooowwwww!”…

Time froze. To her credit, the girl stayed there...on her knees, as blood began to pour from my now ripped-to-pip, cheese-grated cock end.

With several ‘Oh my fucking GOD!’s cried out by everybody, the full horror of what had happened began to become clear.

Pulsating with agony and unable to communicate without bellowing various colourful expletives, I was on my way to the floor to crouch up into a pain-filled ball, when I heard a voice...

“Hold on, let me have a look at it” The girl on her knees said as I coyley recoiled.

“Jeeeessusss-fucking-Christ-on-a-cunting-unicycle!” I exclaimed, as she gently prodded at my crotch where blood was now seeping heavily…and the pain was excrutiating.

What happened then was truly remarkable. My girlfriend and this girl then shared a glance, and without a word being spoken, they seemed to decide that 'everything else could wait', and that the safety of my savagely slashed sex-stick was now the top priority.

Finally, the gobbling girl spoke: “My friend’s here tonight and she’s a nurse” she said quite calmly as she stood up “Let’s get him inside”…

With one arm around this girl and the other around my girlfriend I staggered along as they helped drag my battle-damaged carcass back towards the club.

We burst through the doors with blood still seeping from my semi-severed shaft, which was poking sheepishly through my trousers…the blood now intermingling with the last remaining droplets of spicy schlong salsa which I had involuntarily spaffed in the ensuing commotion.

Everybody turned round and saw me looking exhausted…with my arms round two girls…with one of them calling for her friend…with my mutilated member still hanging out, and with a nether-region caked in blood. What happened next was a mixture of gasps, dropped jaws…and then complete fucking hysterics (mostly by the band)

I tell you, In the sacred name of Billie Piper’s blessed butt-plug it fucking hurt like nothing on this earth.

As her friend (the nurse) approached I noticed that she was also as hot as hell – (just my luck!). However, my brief and blurry thoughts of the prospect of a 'ménage-a-trois' were quickly stifled by the fact that at this point my spam-javelin looked like it was trying to have a sympathy 'period', as bloodied lumps began to clot over my dishevelled salty stormtrooper.

I nearly collapsed as the mighty fine & foxy Florence Nightingale calmly called for the first aid box from behind the bar, then professionally released my potentially crippled cum-spitting cucumber from it's jagged zippy stranglehold, before administering an ample bandage to me in the corner of the room, watched by several hundred prying eyes. I began to feel faint as it became apparent that my blood supply had no idea where to go first – into my deeply embarrassed face?, into my diminished and deflated cock? (to hopefully give it a bit of manly pride-length), or just to simply continue spurting out of the gaping wound by my brutally butchered bell-end?...

In the end it tried all three. and failed.

Once patched up, the magic of the evening had understandably disappeared somewhat…and so had my girlfriend…yet I still had to go back on stage and 'perform'. For the whole time it was difficult to tell who was the more embarrassed - me, or the audience - but for the remainder of the gig I could barely look anybody in the face…not to mention how awkward it is to jig about and pretend like you're 'enjoying the music' when it feels like an atomic bomb has gone off in your shreddies, and you're actually petrified of moving...or even letting your guitar hang anywhere near your undercarriage (oh, and FYI, If you ever find yourself in this position, do NOT play 'foot-tapping' Beatles songs!). Unsurprisingly, the night was ruined for all...

We were subsequently not invited back.

In hindsight, my main worry now is how embarrassingly small my love lozenge shrank to under the ordeal...and this was at the single point when more people saw it all at once than at any other time I have ever experienced since.

Yet even today, when I glance down at my bellend when fully engorged, and the now (deceptively small) scar, I am reminded of 'what could have been' with that girlfriend, had those events not happened that night…

But all in all...I think it was worth it...a Lucky escape I reckon.
(Pooflakebraces for an onslaught..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 13:03,
14 replies)